Prank Wars, The Sequel
by The Original Frizzi
Summary: *insert rather dramatic music here* In the same vein of the first version of Prank Wars, this follows Lyra's brother, Fergus Cousland, and his new lover as they try to outdo each other. Who will win this time? **Note: this coincides with chapter 33 of Eve Hawke's "Seeds Of The Future". This can be read separately.**


_A/N: So many many MANY thanks for those of you that keep coming on by, and reading/reviewing/favoriting. I swear, I AM going to get back to my normal stories and get myself back into the rhythm... I will! *hands out cookie bribes*_

_In the meantime, enjoy this one shot I did in collaboration with Eve Hawke! Since we so enjoyed the first round of Prank Wars, we just had to bring the concept back. This one was done a little bit differently, since it's not just a one-shot. This is done in the backgrounds of Eve's latest chapter of Seeds Of The Future, chapter 33: "A Bitter Pill"._

_And with a chapter name like that, we do need some mischief around here. :D_

_I do want to thank Eve, for being so patient and awesome and handy with her spit-shine edits... and awesome. LOL! I'll stop babbling like an idjit and say read, review, and as always, enjoy!_

* * *

The mid-morning sun shone down on the city of Denerim, bathing the city in all its glory with warm, golden rays. While Isabela could appreciate a nice day, with just the right amount of breeze to keep the land from roasting, nothing could beat the sea. Well, almost nothing.

Looking over to her left, she studied Fergus Cousland on his dapple-grey steed once more. So proud, so handsome, so not-out-of-place he looked while riding along. They had come some way since she'd shown up in Highever with a ship load of Ferelden refugees, starting as friends, and ending- surprisingly- as lovers. Which was why she was here with him, on a horse she couldn't wait to get off of, on her way to a fancy party being hosted by the Hero of Ferelden himself.

Isabela might have been less than thrilled, grand parties with stuffy nobles not in her area of expertise- save on knowing how to rob them blind. Not to mention the suspicious looks she'd received from Fergus' sister, Lyra, upon their first meeting. The queen's condemning eyes had all but confirmed it: this next meeting wouldn't go over well. But, since the piratess_ did_ want to get out of the castle...

Fergus, as if reading her mind, urged his ride closer to her palomino. "Relax," he assured Isabela. "Lyra'll come around in no time."

She hummed a non-committal noise. "I don't do awkward family reunions. First, it's 'oh, how lovely to see you again', and then comes the 'oh, I see you brought the royal slattern. Did you want to break in the room you'll be staying in before dinner?'" With a laugh, she added, "Me, royal. As if such a thing could happen." _But it sure would be nice, to have incomparable riches..._

Chuckling, he replied. "She'd never call you a slattern, royal or otherwise." Not the sister he knew and loved. As they rounded the last bend, he attempted to cheer her spirits. "I'm sure you can see the castle from here with your new spyglass."

Isabela smiled grandly at the thought. As a surprise, Fergus had presented her with a dark wooden box, which housed one of the more gorgeous spyglasses she'd ever encountered. Sleek, black, and well-polished, it was a great replacement for the one she'd sold as part of a bribe to a port keeper, in order to throw off her trail. She hadn't used it yet, but now was certainly the perfect time. Reaching into the appropriate saddle bag, and keeping a careful hold on the reins, nimble fingers extracted her prize, extending it fully and setting it to her eye. She could indeed see the castle from here, down to the guards patrolling the walls.

Oh yes, this was a keeper.

Whether she meant Fergus or the spyglass was still up for debate.

They reached the city walls without incident, and then the castle. A lithe redheaded woman was first to greet them, with a joyous cry to Fergus. Isabela looked around, already having to school her twitching fingers from pilfering certain items. The redhead, Leliana if she remembered correctly, turned to Isabela then and let out a shocked cry, her pretty blue eyes widening.

Isabela jumped at the sound, before turning around to see what had startled Leliana. Finding nothing, she turned back. Nothing had changed... save for a grin Fergus was trying very hard to hide. Had she not been told about his younger days, with the epic prank wars the walls of Castle Cousland was prone to house, she would have been further confused. But that smirk was giving him away, and she found herself thinking back on the whole trip, wondering what he could have done and when it could have happened.

She caught the sly motion Leliana used, raising a hand to subtly rub under one eye. Isabela copied the motion, feeling nothing stand out in particular, but seeing a black smudge on her fingers. _The spyglass_! "Fergus!"

The man doubled over in laughter, and Leliana, thankfully, held hers back as she shook her head. Isabela was far from mad; she knew what was happening, and the prank itself was harmless. But, she thought to herself with glee, the man was going to discover soon enough how she always played to win.

* * *

Fergus relaxed in the easy company of Wynne, the nice elderly mage he had met during Lyra's travels, and Leliana. Both had wanted to hear of his and Isabela's trip from Highever, how the refugees were settling in, and fill him in on the happenings of Denerim since their own arrival. Isabela wasn't with him, not since late last night, and was undoubtedly planning some way to get him back. She may be mischievous enough, but if there was one thing he could claim as a trump over her, it was experience in a castle.

He let the women chatter on as his mind wandered. There was no doubt in his mind that Isabela might be the liveliest woman he'd ever met, her wily ways a soothing balm Fergus hadn't known he'd needed. There was no way any woman could replace Oriana in his heart... but maybe it didn't have to be about replacing. It was hardly a crime to love more than one person, after all.

The conversation, and his thoughts, were interrupted by a pair of new arrivals. The stocky dwarf had red hair and beard, drawing rather obvious attention to him... if not for the bright armor, massive broad axe, and loud speech. The taller man must have been a mage, given the staff he easily held as a walking stick. Both were in jovial conversation, but must have been sparring with each other not too long ago.

"An' I'm tellin' ya, boy," the dwarf growled. "Using them sparkle-fingers of yours can only get you so far. There's nothin' like swinging a blade and cuttin' into your foes like a fearsome warrior! What can you do, aside from runnin' away?"

"Freeze your armor solid, which worked before, if I may add," the mage easily replied, a smirk crossing his face.

"Ehhh, I let ya win that one, ye twinkle-toes."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Oghren."

"Gentlemen," Leliana demurred. "Another successful round in the training ring?"

"Not yet, and I prefer to call it 'another failed attempt to get me into using a, quote, 'actual weapon,''" the mage replied.

"Ye don' fight off armies with a stick, unless you're wantin' to get yerself killed," Oghren growled, reaching for a waterskin on his belt. From the smell Fergus could pick up, it was filled with anything but that.

"In comparison to swinging that giant thing around like a madman?" the mage returned, before spotting Fergus. "Hey, Fergus! Fancy seeing you here! Say, you look like an able person," he continued. "If someone like this fella over here came at you at a full run, swinging that battle axe overhead, and screeching like a... whatever it is that screeches, what would you do?"

"Anders," Wynne chastised the mage. "It's not polite to insult your teachers."

With a half shrug, Fergus added, "I'd just reach for my shield. He's not the first two-handed warrior I've encountered."

Anders appeared to be lost in thought at this. "So, since I use two hands to fight as well... I could be a kindred soul of Oghren's?"

"Say wha', now?" the dwarf sputtered.

"My brother in arms! There's no need to teach me how to wield such an ungodly thing, for I already know the ways of the two-handed warrior!"

The eldest Cousland had to laugh at the optimism Anders showed. "It may not be that simple... if you'll allow me to tag along and help show you?"

The dwarf mumbled into his drink, something along the lines of finally having a decent warrior to work with. When Anders shrugged his acquiescence, Fergus excused himself from the table, rose from his seat, and attempted to step away. His ankle tugged as if it was caught on something, causing him to lose his balance and fall forward. The only thing keeping him from face-planting was his quick reach for the table's edge... which was covered with a tablecloth. His hand closed around that, but rather than slowing his fall, added insult to injury with a clatter of dishes as they went flying. He landed on his side, twisting his body out of reflex, and giving him a full view of the perpetrator hiding underneath the table, a grand smile on her face. Isabela waved cheerfully before scampering off, most likely to sneak her way out of the dining room in all the chaos.

_Oh yes,_ Fergus thought to himself. _It was war now._

"Are you alright?" Leliana's worried voice cut in.

Looking down to his boots, seeing the rather impossible looking collection of knots that were once his laces, Fergus smiled. "As soon as I get my revenge, I will be."

* * *

Isabela woke slowly the next morning, languidly stretching her legs in the warm rays of the sun. A smile crossed her face, thinking of yesterday's prank; it had taken quite a bit to clean up Fergus' mess, and even longer to free him from his own boots. He'd seemed amicable enough when he returned to his room later that night. Before her escape, she'd caught a glimpse of his look just as it changed from surprise to that of a tactical master. Isabela thought it too delicious an opportunity to pass up, naturally...

Her amber eyes slowly opened, her head turning to face the top of the fabric canopy. Really, how did nobles get anything done with incredible beds like these? She could get used to this... But, now came yet another full day of watching her back and taking any and all corners with caution. When Fergus set his mind to something, very little could sway him from that chosen path. She started to rise, and was stopped not even an inch off the bed. Looking down, she found nothing amiss, just mere bed covers. Yet trying to rise again produced the same result- she was completely unable to move.

"Oh, this is rich," she stated aloud. "The first time I've been restrained to a bed, using the _actual_ bed... and not in a sexual manner." Now, how to get herself free... She had mobility of legs and arms, but only to scissor them back and forth. Not ideal for trying to free yourself... It also didn't help that the blankets were tucked up to her shoulders. "Balls..." She must have _really_ been out to get trapped in such a manner.

An idea came to mind. Her back arched in opposite time with a hard push into the mattress with her butt, an effort to crawl her way up to the headboard. Her shoulders cleared, and she was getting closer and closer to freeing her arms... A knock at the door whipped her head to the side.

"Um, hello?" a male voice called in. Isabela paused her struggles to find a man standing in the doorway... a mage, by the looks of it... a rather familiar one... "I just remembered I held onto this all night and wanted to return it," he explained, gesturing to a wicked looking sword. "But, funny thing is, I find myself losing my train of thought."

"It is funny, isn't it," Isabela commented. "What would be even funnier if you just left me here like this, to struggle all by my lonesome."

Catching the hint, he set the sword against the foot of the bed, strode around to her exposed shoulder, and proceeded with pulling on the covers. It was finally freed from its prison and tossed away with a flourish, too quick for her to warn him. "Oh! Naked woman trapped in a bed!" he exclaimed, his eyes glued to her figure.

"It gets better and better, doesn't it?" she asked, still studying her 'rescuer's' face. She was so certain... "Wait. Electricity?" When his own face lit up with recognition and blushed, she snapped her fingers. "That's how I know you! What is your name again? ... Andrew..."

"Anders," he corrected.

"Right, Anders." Sliding off the feather mattress, she couldn't help but laugh. "Look at us; from The Pearl to the palace."

"I don't know; rescuing naked damsels from their villainous beds may have remained the same, but being nearly killed by a madman of a dwarf I could do without."

Laughing as her shirt was pulled into place, she couldn't help but agree with that sentiment. But it still remained: Fergus was a point ahead in the prank war. She needed a way to get him back. Were she truly in a dangerous situation, she would have yawned at how tame this latest prank was in comparison to yesterday's. But seeing a discarded pair of Fergus' pants soon brought an idea to mind.

She smiled, slowly turning to face Anders. "Care to help me with something?"

* * *

"Honestly, Alistair. You have nothing to worry about."

"Sure, you say that. But you don't have the whole of Ferelden watching for your child's arrival," Alistair replied, his tone weary.

Fergus had to sympathize with that. Being the heir to castle Cousland had left some unwanted pressure on him from the rest of the bannorns. Thankfully, his father was lenient with his choice in Oriana, firmly insisting that in matters of the heart, very little could sway a man from what it decided. That lessened the pressure to produce an heir drastically, now that he thought back on it... Turning toward his friend, he set a reassuring hand on Alistair's shoulder. "The whole of Ferelden shouldn't matter. They don't love Lyra as much as you do, nor will they love your child as much as its parents will."

"I know," Alistair agreed, running a tired hand through his thick hair.

"The only thing you need to focus on is Lyra, and making sure she's comfortable." Pregnancies were never entirely easy on women, but it was well worth it to see a child- your child. Memories of Oriana brought a pang to his heart, the pain wasn't what it used to be. Duller, now... less aching. There were smiles to go with the tears. And though Oren would always be in his heart, he had many years left; perhaps he'd yet have more children.

Alistair walked in silence, shrugging as he added, "While watching out for her mood swings, you mean?"

Turning down the hall towards his room, Fergus laughed jovially at the remark Alistair made. "That's terrible! ... though if I know my sister, it's bound to be true," he lightly chastised, seeing the matching grin on Alistair's face. He had to give the man credit; not many could come from nothing and turn into a pretty important something in the amount of time given to the current king. He couldn't have asked for a better man for his sister to marry, even if he tried. The both of them had just finished a rather exuberant sparring match; Alistair had simply needed to release some pent up energy, an action Fergus knew very well.

It being so close to the ball Lyra was throwing, Arlessa Isolde insisted on having a welcoming dinner for the noblemen and women that made it to the palace early. Which meant, unfortunately, that the sparring match had to be cut short to give them enough time to prepare. The two men clapped each other on the back shortly before departing, leaving Fergus to step into an empty room.

_Ah, it seems my 'prisoner' freed herself..._ Seeing that she'd exited on the other side of the bed, he shrugged openly. Not every prank could go entirely as one planned, especially when one wasn't there to help it along. He disarmed the simple grease trap and set it off to the side. Perhaps another time...

The practice sword and shield were set off to the side, with his sweaty clothes soon following. He quickly washed up, throwing out a new outfit on the bed as he dried. After a moment's thought, he shook them out to discourage any surprises. Seeing nothing out of the norm, they were slipped on shortly after. Fergus stepped up to the mirror to examine himself, and cried out with surprise.

His pants were split right down the middle of his groin! How could he have missed that?

Getting a sneaking suspicion, he checked the rest of his clothing, soon finding every single pair of pants he owned in the same condition as the ones he was wearing now. Well, there was one pair that was saved from the prank, but those wouldn't do. "They'll have to for now," he mused, slipping the smelly pair back on. Once that was settled, he snuck out the door, making his way toward Alistair's room, searching every shadow for Isabela or one of her traps. Next time, she was going to have to watch herself.

* * *

Isabela was getting a headache from all the side glances she was giving to Fergus.

She had agreed, grudgingly, to attend the dinner with Fergus tonight. She could put up with the nobles looking at her state of dress in disgust, had done so for a long time now. But this man... what was he up to?!

Of course, he looked like the cat who ate the canary right beside her. He was dressed in an entirely different set of clothes... most likely King Alistair's. But, that teasing hint of a smile... he was up to something.

A toast was announced that Isabela didn't pay attention to, so focused on the possibility of what he could have done her mind blocked the words being said. It had to be something that would occur either here, though she doubted it, or soon after the dinner ended. And what could it be? All of her possessions were accounted for; she'd made sure of this before leaving the room. There were no traps that she could see, unless he'd enlisted some sort of hidden help... that had to be it.

A collective murmur rose in the group as they raised their glasses up. Isabella went through the motions, taking a light sip of the wine in case that was tampered with. The goblet was set down, but still remained stuck to her gloved hand. An amused snort was smothered in the seat next to her. _Aha... so _that's_ what it was._ Pretending to relax in her seat, the goblet was taken with her as she discreetly tried to free her hand from it. Another suppressed laugh shook Fergus' shoulders, prompting Isabela to kick one of his legs. It wasn't funny! Well, it was, in a way... but it wasn't!

"Do you need some assistance?" Leliana whispered from her other side.

Thank the Maker for small miracles! "Yes," she murmured back, knowing the bard would handle this with much more grace than Isabela possessed.

The redhead nodded, rising from her seat with a gentle clearing of her throat, turning her attention to Lyra and Alistair. "If you will excuse us for a moment? Isabela and I would like to discuss something in private."

Lyra's slow nod was all Isabela needed. Leliana left her seat on the bench, and Isabella rose to do the same, but was stopped rather abruptly. Something seemed to be caught on the tail of her shirt... _oh no_... A soft laugh was escaping Fergus as Isabela's jaw dropped. _He didn't! _Leliana instantly tried to cover the latest turn in this prank, but the damage was already done: Isabela was literally glued to her seat.

* * *

"A dress?" Isabela repeated. "She wants me to wear a dress?"

"Just for one night," Fergus repeated, helplessly looking up from his seat on the bed. Isabela was still in her glorious state of undress, and Maker help him but did he want her again... now, it seemed out of the question. "It doesn't have to be those overly large Orlesian ball gowns-"

"Oh, well thank the Maker for that," the piratess muttered, stopping before Fergus to firmly plant her hands on her hips. "At least I won't look like a foreign idiot!"

Fergus had seen quite a few of the newest gowns in Ferelden fashion, and it spurred his near immediate response. "No, but you'd look like an incredibly beautiful idiot."

Isabela pouted her lower lip. "While I'm flattered by your compliment, I still don't want to."

"Then let me make it up to you," Fergus insisted. Both of them knew well enough that while necessary, the stuffy noble clothes weren't a constant favorite of Fergus' either. Perhaps she'd want to take her knives to them afterwards as a reward...

An interested glint filled Isabela's whiskey colored gaze before she slunk forward, crawling onto Fergus' lap. "You'll make it up to me?" she repeated.

"Anything you want, and I will do it," he promised.

"Then here's what I propose," she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I wear a dress to the royal dinner... and starting tomorrow, you will be my personal slave." As Fergus started to laugh, she spoke over him. "Every single _crazy_ demand, and you will have to fulfill it."

Knowing he might hate the answer, he asked, "How long will this servitude last?"

A calloused finger set against her lips in exaggerated thought, before she answered. "A week."

"A week?! That seems a bit much for one night-"

"Oh, I just remembered!" Isabela cried, scrambling off of Fergus' lap and plucking a white shirt from his wardrobe before pressing it against her front. "I haven't worn this one yet... maybe if I find a bright red corset to borrow-"

"Three days," he interrupted. "I'll agree with three days."

She faced him, relaxing her arms. "Five," she countered.

"Four," he shot back. Seeing her brows arch, he asked, "What?"

"Would you like the corset to have gold laces, or black ones?"

He groaned aloud. She wasn't going to make this easy on him... "Alright, five. I'll agree with five days."

Her eyes narrowing with thought, she played with her lip piercing before smiling grandly. "I also want you to tell everyone that I won the Prank War."

"Wh-what?! No, no no no, I won't do that!" Fergus insisted. No amount of bribery had ever worked him over before, especially when it came from Lyra.

"Well then," Isabela airily replied, placing the shirt back up against her as she went to the mirror. "Black laces it is! And maybe I could undo a couple more of the top buttons, give those old stodges something to look at... or maybe even go panty-less! That may be the newest craze in Orlais by this time next year!"

Fergus had come up behind Isabela during her speech, wrapping his arms around her and trapping her securely to him. It was the perfect move for him to murmur into her ear: "Just those who'll know what we're talking about. It wouldn't be worth the effort otherwise."

She met his eyes in the mirror. "That is an excellent point. Regardless, those are my terms. Do you accept them?" As he sighed greatly and eventually nodded, she turned in his embrace, abandoning the shirt to embrace him fully. "I knew you'd agree to them soon enough."

"And I'm regretting this already," he jokingly countered, sealing their deal with a kiss... that turned into many more.


End file.
